


Coping Mechanisms

by kscribbles



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: F/M, Het, Slashy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Peter and Amy bond over having been (or nearly been) vampires. Because they're both who they are, this results in energetic sexytimes. Maybe with some biting. Feel free to include Charley, after the fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lj community FrightNight2011's kinkmeme: http://frightnight2011.livejournal.com/718.html

Amy wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, but she rode the elevator up to Peter’s penthouse anyway.  She’d never been up here without Charley, but… that was kind of the point.  Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to come unannounced either, but she would have lost her nerve if she’d had to call first.  
   
Peter was in jeans and nothing else, lounging in a chair, reading.  He hadn’t heard her come in, thanks to the keys and codes he’d made sure she and Charley were supplied with, and she took a moment to just look at him.  God, he was hot.  But that’s not why she was here.  She mentally shook herself and audibly cleared her throat.  
   
“Hi,” she said when he looked up.  She gave a little wave.  
   
He looked only vaguely surprised.  “Amy, hi.  I didn’t know you were coming by.”  
   
“I didn’t know either, until I decided to.”  
   
“That is generally how it works.”  
   
“Yeah, no, I know…”  
   
He snapped his book closed and sat up.  “Charley with you?”  
   
“Nope.  Just me.”  She hooked her fingers in her belt loops, trying to seem casual.   “I… wanted to talk to you.”  
   
“’kay.  Well sit down.   Drink?”  He stood and walked—no, sauntered—to the bar.  
   
She didn’t sit, but followed him and leaned against the bar.  “Sure,” she said slowly.  
   
She watched him mix the ingredients for a Midori sour and a glass of the green stuff straight for himself.  
   
“Talk, Amy.  I have a show pretty soon.”  
   
She gratefully took the drink and gulped a large mouthful.   “I can’t really talk to anyone about this.  Not Charley.  I mean, I guess I could have found Mark or someone, but… You’re the only other person who…” He prodded her silently with his eyes.   “…Who was a vampire.”  
   
“Ah,” he said, taking a long drink himself.  “But I wasn’t, was I?  Not really.  Just barely began smoldering in the sun.  Never… lost my soul or anything.”  
   
“Still you… had him in you.  Jerry, I mean.”  
   
“Not nearly as much as you did, I suspect.”  
   
“Yeah, um, maybe…”  She didn’t remember all that much about the hours after she was turned, and didn’t really want to talk about that.   “But…  Do you have dreams?”  
   
“Of course I dream, Amy.”  
   
“About being a vampire?  Because I do.  About blood and hunger and the power, too.  But mostly I’m scared… like I’m trapped, right?  And I still see him.  Jerry, when he got me in the club downstairs.   I’m, you know, in general I mean, I'm not helpless; I don’t like feeling that way.  And I hate these nightmares, I want them to stop. I don't really know what to do.  Do you have them?  Since you killed him?”  
   
“Amy, love,” he laughed, and began to walk away towards the chairs by the windows again.  “I’ve had nightmares about _Jerry_ my whole life.  I’d rather hoped Charley killing him would make them stop.”  
   
“It hasn’t?” she asked as he sat again.  
   
“It’s helped,” he admitted.  “Not completely.”  She could see what Charley saw in this guy, when he let go of his persona for a minute.  She came here seeking her own comfort, a way to deal with these dreams, but… now she wanted to reach out to _him_.  
   
“Would it help to talk about it?”    
   
He snorted.  “Drinks help.  Money helps.  Fucking helps.  Magic helps.  Talking about it?  Never came to much good.”  
   
She wasn’t really thinking when she did it, except maybe, _wow, he’s beautiful when he’s vulnerable_ , and _fucking does make it all go away, for a little while_.  But somehow, she found herself setting down her glass and climbing into Peter Vincent’s lap, laying a hand on his chest, and pressing her lips to his.  
   
He kissed her back for a second before gently pushing her away.   “I didn’t mean you, Amy.”  
   
“I know,” she said.  “So?”  
   
“So… spectacularly bad idea.”  
   
“Noted.”  She kissed him again.  And then she took her top off.  
   
x x x  
   
He probably shouldn’t have given in.  He probably should have been the adult here and sent her delicious arse packing.  But she’d got naked, and she’d pushed a condom into his hand, and he’d wondered if she’d planned this, as spontaneous as it had seemed.  And then she was riding him, and then leaning over him and biting down on his damn neck, and that was too vampy for his comfort so he’d hauled her up and turned her around.  
   
And could he be blamed?  He was human.  The whole point of this was that he was human, and alive, and so was she, and sex was just sex, and he hadn’t had any since Ginger, and damn why did he have to think about _her_ when he was fucking Amy from behind, like his poor doomed girlfriend had liked it.  
   
God he and Amy, former vampire and former almost vampire, were a fucked up little pair.  
   
But oh she was so tight, so enthusiastic, begging for it as he pounded into her, shoving her without mercy into the back of the chair.  Charley was a lucky, lucky man.  And he wondered why he should think of him when he was about to come, but once he’d conjured up Charley, he couldn’t banish him from his thoughts.  That face, those eyes, that mouth that would no doubt curse him.  
   
“ _Fuck…_ ”    
   
   
A few minutes later, she was dressed and they were again standing across the bar from each other.   He poured her another drink.  
   
“You’re welcome to hang out.  But I have a show to get ready for in a bit, so you should probably…”  
   
“Right, yeah, of course.   I’ll go.”  She gulped half her drink down in one go.  “See you around?”  
   
He toasted her with his glass in acknowledgment, and then watched her walk away, hoping that arse would replace vampires in his dreams.      
   
   
\-  -  -  
   
Peter woke to blinding sun as his curtains were wrenched open.  He rolled over, groaning.   _Fucking Charley_.  
“Charley, what the fuck, man?  It's like…”  He squinted at the clock, guessing at the blurry numbers, “10 am.  That's like three in the morning for regular people.”  
Charley stomped over to the bed, smoke practically pouring from his cute little ears.

“Did you fuck my girlfriend?”

Right.  That.  There was only one was to deal with the teenage righteous anger bomb: diffusion.  He'd feel less the asshole if he convinced Charley it wasn't a big deal.  Which it really wasn’t; he just needed to broaden Charley’s horizons a little.  Peter sighed, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes.    
   
He reached over, grabbed a cigarette, lit it, blew the smoke toward Charley, and simply said, “Yeah I did.”

“What?”  Charley was blinking in stuttering confusion.  It was clear the kid had expected him to lie.

“I fucked her.  Sorry.”

“Sorry?  You're sorry?  After what we've been through?  I thought we were friends.”

“We are.”  He climbed out of bed and pulled on some jeans.  “Come on, you woke me up, we might as well go get some breakfast.  I'm never up early enough for breakfast.”

“This is Vegas, you can get breakfast any time,” Charley pointed out before processing.  He visibly shook himself, clearly trying to stay angry in the baffling face of deliberate nonchalance.  “But that's not the fucking point.  I don't want breakfast!  I want an explanation.”

Peter stubbed out his cigarette and pulled something that was probably a shirt from the floor. He tapped Charley on the chest.

“Here's your explanation.  When a girl like Amy throws herself at you, you fuck her.  Unless you're a homosexual, that's what you DO.  I don't have time for this teenage drama bullshit.  You want to have it out with someone?  Talk to her.  You want to be pissed off at me, stop coming 'round?  Fine, you do that, let me know what you decide.”  
   
Charley just gaped, so Peter continued.  “Though, honestly, I wish you wouldn't, because I have grown rather fond of you.”  He smacked his cheek playfully, enjoying Charley's befuddled expression.  “You little shit.”

He walked away, pulling on his shirt, not bothering with buttons, searching for coffee or Midori, whichever was easier to get to.

Charley was spluttering behind him.  “You!  You're fucking impossible.”

He turned back and winked.  “Impossible to stay mad at, you mean.”

“No,” Charley said, following him out of the bedroom.  “No, I'm still mad at you.  Furious.”  He sounded less convinced.

“All right,” Peter sighed.   “Be angry. We can 'talk' about it if you really want.”  He swayed a little as he put up air quotes, indicating his distaste for the idea.  “Discuss my fucked up motivations or hers.  But you know what would be easier?  I fucked your girlfriend.   _We_ should fuck too.  Then the two of you would be even.”

Charley laughed, in spite of himself.  And if Peter wasn't mistaken, there might have been a glance at his still bare torso, as well.  “I'm not having sex with you, dude.”

“No?”

“No,” Charley affirmed, but he was smiling, just a bit, and so, Peter's work here was done.

“Pity.  Breakfast, then?”

 

FIN


End file.
